


None of You

by airebellah



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Relationship, tags inside to avoid spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 08:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: Again, this is canon-compliant for Endgame, so spoilers below!This is just a short fic of Peter's POVMajor character death, angst, guilt





	None of You

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is canon-compliant for Endgame, so spoilers below!
> 
>  
> 
> This is just a short fic of Peter's POV
> 
>  
> 
> Major character death, angst, guilt

If Peter had had time to think about it, he would have thought that being, er,  _ un-dusted _ would have hurt just as much as being dusted. But he came back quickly, though, and was left panting for breath long after the screaming in his reassembled nerve-endings ceased. In his periphery, he was vaguely aware of other bodies reforming, limb by limb; but he was too dazed, really, to process anything. For once, all sensory input -- the soft groans and muted murmurs of the returned, the clear blue sky above him, the grainy sands and jagged rocks beneath him -- was lost on him.

Until he was arrested by one heart-halting thought:  _ Tony. _

Peter leapt up then, on weak, trembling limbs. The world around him wobbled as he looked in every direction for a familiar flash of red and gold, or even just a burst of orange light. 

“Mister Stark?” he called out, or tried to, really. An Avenger’s voice wasn’t supposed to break like that, especially not so soon after being officially entrusted with such a title, but Peter’s throat was raw and trembling, and he thought maybe the suit’s filtration system just wasn’t working properly, and he had swallowed a bunch of sand while he was out. Not that any of that mattered, of course, right now -- what mattered was Tony, whose hand Peter could almost still feel on the back of his head, who Peter had last seen hobbling around with a barely-sealed stab wound.

Peter could feel the urgency bubbling up his esophagus, reducing his already mewling voice into a gurgling mess. “Mister-Mis-” He couldn’t have been out for  _ that _ long, and surely Tony wouldn’t have just left Peter, with creepy Egg Lady and her friends, unless -- unless it was  _ truly _ bad, and Peter couldn’t bare the thought --

He jolted at a sudden hand on his shoulder, desperately gripping the appendage before it could dare let go. He could feel it was a gloved hand, rather than a heavy, familiar gauntlet, but he nevertheless gasped out a hopeful, “Mister Stark?”

As he twisted around, he found himself on the receiving end of a narrowed, dispassionate gaze. “Come now,” Dr. Strange beckoned. “It’s been five years. They need us.”

There were many things Peter could have said to that frankly bewildering piece of news, and yet, he could only manage the same two words: “Mister Stark?”

The fingers on his shoulder twitched in wordless comfort. “He needs you now, Peter.”

The sorcerer turned away, then, hands swirling dramatically as he conjured up a yellow circle of light. As Strange struggled to cajole the others through the portal, Peter stole a moment, steeling himself. One big breath in -- okay, maybe it took three, before his lungs were clear of any stutter -- and he squared his shoulders.

He wouldn’t let his mentor down again.

 

The only thing Peter could think about was getting to Tony, as quickly (and safely) as possible. And, possibly, not dying in the process. But even that was slipping further and further to the back of his mind with every passing minute. He began to swing more recklessly, narrowly avoiding foe and ally fire alike. He finally spotted Iron Man, in a clearing between some boulders, effortlessly blasting away enemies. Peter was just a few swings too late to save Tony from a blow to the back from a hulking beast that flung him into a boulder, but Peter managed to web the beast up before it could land a deadly swing of its sword.

Then he was jumping between Ant-Man’s gigantic legs to pull Tony to his feet and, like so many times before with this man, his mouth started running uncontrollably. He found himself gushing about Dr. Strange, and the apparent five years, and none of this was  _ relevant _ in the midst of this crazy battle. But he almost feared that if he stopped talking, something else would tumble out of his mouth -- some other words, private and unspeakable -- or perhaps even worse, a damning press of his lips to Tony’s cracked, bleeding ones.

And Tony was staring at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open (and Peter tried not to focus on that, as impossible a task it was). It was a look Peter had received on a handful of occasions over the near-three years he had known the man, one that left his insides twisting with an unsettling desire to know  _ what _ _ ,  _ exactly, it meant. Because it seemed to promise so much more than paternal-but-distant pats on the shoulder and encouragements of “ _ Good job, kiddo!” _

It was as he was waving his arm in a circular motion to convey Strange’s magic portal, all the while internally despairing how Tony could never take him seriously if he kept on using phrases like  _ holy cow _ _! _ , that he was pulled into his mentor’s arms. He hoped, distantly, that the immediate limpness in his limbs went unnoticed; but it was unlikely, given the desperation with which he clung to the man’s armour. He allowed his eyes to fall shut, for just a moment, as he breathed in the aching familiar scent of Tony’s musk and sweat.

“Has it… really been five years?” he whispered as Tony began to pull away. He tried to cling on, for one stupid, selfish second, before letting the man go.

Tony didn’t say anything, just retracted his gauntlet to cradle Peter’s jaw with a wistful smile. He didn’t need to say anything, after all; Peter’s mouth fell open as he took in Tony’s greying, curly hair and the wrinkles etched into the man’s features. Worst of all was the pain in Tony’s gaze, and the too-soft graze of his bare knuckles along Peter’s cheek, as if he couldn’t believe the teen was truly there.

 

Peter could admit that, over the years as his idol-worship and puppy-love crush had solidified into an aching, resounding love, he had been jealous of Pepper. It was the type of jealousy that was deep-seated and simmering barely below the surface, just waiting to consume him. It wasn’t like he deluded himself into thinking he would ever be better for Tony. But there were times, at his absolute lowest, that he found himself hoping that one of their many break-ups would finally last. It was ridiculous, of course. Especially considering that, in the end, Pepper gave Tony exactly what Peter couldn’t.

_ Peace _ _. _

She had the strength to let Tony go, even as Peter was begging and pleading with him to _hang_ _on_ _._

He knew he should be thankful that, by the time he struggled out of War Machine’s grasp, Tony had already slipped away. Thankful that Tony’s last moments weren’t filled with Peter shaking him, screaming at him, fingers digging into the man’s arms hard enough to rent his armour.

Certainly, he would rather have never known what Tony’s lips felt like, then to have kissed the man’s limp, lifeless lips, covered as they were in blood and dirt and Peter’s own tears. But no one bothered to hold him back, when the only damage he could do was to himself. 

At least Tony wasn’t around, that time, for Peter’s last failure.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry with me on tumblr about this movie @ airebellah!


End file.
